


The Den of Umbral Flowers

by Abalisk



Series: Ethos [3]
Category: Bleach, One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nanny, Awkward Flirting, Crossover, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, In which Marco is a lovestruck idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abalisk/pseuds/Abalisk
Summary: A Hikagami Kaiza is in One Piece-land fic!Marco has seen a lot of strange things during his life, living on the Grand Line will do that to a man, but he hadn't seen anything as strange as this woman with the glowing red eye.Nor will he ever.





	1. Chapter 1

Thunder rumbled in the sky above, the dark bank of clouds rolling and boiling like an overfilled kettle, the wind howling a mournful song. Waves crashed and bucked as if the sea itself were trying to dislodge the ship from its surface, the white whale figurehead bobbing up and down with every clash.

The  _Moby Dick_  however, remained undaunted, its large size allowing it to weather the storm with ease.

The lifeboat heading to the nearest shore on the other hand… was a different story.

“Keep it level!” Marco cried over the din, gritting his teeth as he pushed the oar into the churning sea, arms burning in protest, “Don’t lean too far over the edge or we’ll take on more water!”

“Aye!” came the rallying shout, the men under his command bending to follow his instructions with determined purpose…

Ignoring their own discomfort in order to reach land.

They hadn’t dared bring the  _Moby Dick_  close to land during the storm, the risk of beaching or marooning on a reef too great with the massive ship. And flying him in his phoenix form was out of the question in Denzin’s condition…

A white flash bisected the horizon, the fork of lightning tearing across the sky, and Marco winced as the glare temporarily blinded him, his eyes flashing in white spots that clouded his vision. But one silhouette remained untarnished in his sight, the imposing figure of his father sitting tall in the tempest, a voluminous cloak swathing his form. “Pops, how is he?” Marco called, grunting as he pulled the oar back yet again for another circuit.

Pops growled, his voice akin to the rumbling of a waking volcano, “He’s grown still… There’s nothing left for him to throw up.”

Marco’s lips thinned, his eyes taking in the limp bundle in his father’s arms. Denzin was a young deckhand, had been with them for only a couple of years and was by far the youngest member of his own division. 

And he’d contracted Water-Totter Fever…

On land, such an illness wasn’t a problem, as well as rare. It wasn’t contagious so long as one sanitized the inevitable sick leavings and washed their hands… And while being confined to a couple weeks of bed rest wasn’t too great, it was better than vomiting all over the place, as the sickness affected the body’s equilibrium.

What made the disease a real killer though was out on the water.

The rocking of the boat made nausea worsen… They couldn’t sleep… Couldn’t keep anything down… And eventually they fell into a gibbering mess of delirium, their body beginning to wear away and shut down. High fever made their skin searing to the touch and vivid hallucinations tormented them day and night. It was a prime example of the human body literally killing itself…

This had already been going on for a week, they didn’t have much time left. It was imperative that they got to land so he could be treated properly, but with the weather like it was, that narrow window was starting to close.

So Marco just grit his teeth and heaved with all his might, fighting against the wind, the waves… and time.

That time stretched, the island seeming to grow no closer. 

–-

“What do you mean we can’t land here?!” Marco heard one of his men cry, the sound almost distant to his ears, his mind still reeling in shock.

Rain pelted down from above, soaking his skin through, yet he barely felt the chill, his body as numb as his brain.

This man had practically given Denzin a death sentence.

“It’s as I’ve said,” the islander blustered, his mustache could be seen quivering above the high collar of his cloak, his conical hat obscuring his other features, “No pirates of any caliber are permitted on this island, return to your ship immediately!”

“But my brother’s sick!” another man shouted, both in rage and to make himself heard over the storm, “If he doesn’t make it to land, he’ll die!”

A second islander in the crowd scoffed loudly. “Don’t bother! You’re just trying to trick us–We know what you pirates are like!”

Various murmurs of agreement followed that statement and Marco clenched his fists. They were only civilians and while he was all too familiar with the stigma that many pirates perpetuated, his crew was nothing like that.

These people really should have no reason to fear them…

Pops’ voice rolled over the gathered crowd, his speech easily discernible through the foul weather, “We aren’t asking for much, only a small segment of land put aside. We have our own supplies and plenty of it, so you need not be concerned with us. We are not the pillaging kind of pirates, we come in peace!”

 **“Then what, pray tell, quality of pirate are you?”**  A warped feminine tone echoed from the rear of the crowd.

Heads turned in unison to view the speaker, the cacophonous mutterings hushing into a revered silence, the mob parting as a single figure strode to their position. The bobbing of a black hood was visible among the sea of humanity and Marco felt a quiver down his spine as they spoke again.

 **“Is not the definition of a pirate to rob and plunder? To steal from the rich… To rape the weak?”** she said, her black clad form gliding through the islander’s ranks, a cloak with ragged edges billowing in the wind.

Marco sucked in a breath and he heard several men beside him do the same…

Because a single red eye glared balefully from within the contents of the woman’s hood, the crimson iris producing its own unearthly glow. A flash of lightning revealed that the bottom half of her face was obscured by a metal mask, most likely the source of her distorted words.

She appeared like the very personification of evil. A dark shroud and an eerie aura… Her words were poignant and accusing, her presence a looming threat.

It was like staring into the open jaws of a beast, that same mounting anxiety gnawing at the belly and eating one alive.

The scuff of her boot, as she came to a stop, was deafening.

“We are not like the pirates you speak of,” Pops rumbled, nearly imitating the rolling thunder, “Our goals are to exist happy and free of the World Government’s influence, to form bonds of brotherhood. To be a family…” At this, he visibly tightened the hold on Denzin’s swaddled form, his face pinching in conflict. “I think of my crew as my sons and daughters… my family. I would do anything for them.”

 **“‘Anything?’”**  the woman mused, inclining her hooded head slightly in thought,  **“An interesting vow… Does that include forfeiting your own life, I wonder?”**

Marco stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.  _Is she suggesting… What I think she is?!_  he thought, darting his eyes to his father’s face to see his expression pulling into a grim frown.

_Don’t say it!_

“Yes.”

The air grew still at his proclamation, the wind dying as abruptly as it began. No one said a word, the only sound breaking through what would have been absolute silence was the crash of waves, the ocean dauntless in the tense atmosphere.

A cold chuckle echoed, the light of that eye curving in amusement.

**_“Prove it.”_ **

Those menacing words were the only warning they received before sinuous limbs as black as night erupted from the contents of the woman’s cloak. They coalesced into a single black claw and latched with crushing force to Pops’ throat. He choked but didn’t flinch or otherwise move under the onslaught, his body keeping stiff as he stared into that otherworldly eye.

The men cried out in surprise and rage, their bodies lurching forward to aid their adoptive father. Marco was among their ranks, but his feet stuttered to a halt when he heard Pops give a strangled, “Stand down!”

Marco was the first to whip about, his eyes wild as he stared at his captain…  _his father_. Pops gave him a strained smile, the expression more like a grimace as the claw dug into his neck. “It is… the father’s… duty… to protect…”

“No! Not like this!” Marco shouted, defiant to his wishes. Defiant to the people who spurned them. Defiant to this _woman!_ This was Edward Newgate.  _Whitebeard._  The Strongest Man in the World. He couldn’t die here!

Snarling, Marco whirled around and slapped a hand to his chest, proclaiming for all to hear, “If you need a pound of flesh, then I offer myself in his place! Please, don’t take my father’s life! Kill me instead!!”

The crimson iris flicked to meet his briefly, before dismissing him entirely, gazing back at his stoic captain. Boring into his soul. **“Charlotte Linlin has a ‘family’ as well,”**  she said in a conversational tone, as if she wasn’t in the process of strangling a man. **“She too desires happiness and freedom… but at the cost of her own flesh and blood–Her children suffering under her tyranny, twisting into something perverse and utilized like tools at her convenience.”**  The eye narrowed and the shadowy limb visibly tensed as she uttered, **“Is this your creed as well? Do you ascribe to such a corrupt definition of ‘family,’ _Edward Newgate_?”**

Marco seethed. “If you know who he is, then you should already be aware of the answers to these inane questions!” he shouted, clenching his fists as he watched Pops’ face turn from pink to red, the lack of oxygen finally catching up. “Just what’s the point of all this?!”

Crimson eye fully focused on him now, Marco tried not to squirm under her imposing stare. He felt like she was analyzing him… Picking him apart, piece by piece. Torn open and strewn about in a mess of limbs and–

 **“There is a peninsula, not far from here on the eastern side of the island,”**  she stated, the black claw releasing Pops from its choking grasp, making his captain cough and gulp for air. Men rushed to his side, concerned for his well-being, but Marco didn’t move, too shocked to react further.  **“There is a cabin,”** she continued, the single limb splitting off into five smaller ones before retracting under the cloak again,  **“but it’s deserted, it should serve your purposes well.”**

Murmurs of dissent rippled through the crowd, the islanders confused by their guardian’s (and it was very clear that she was) verdict. She gave no indication that she heard them however and simply turned her back, her cloak billowing in the wind as she strode away.

Marco didn’t understand.  _Did we pass some sort of test?_  he wondered. This wasn’t something they could just ignore… She threatened Pops, but decided to give them asylum? Was she a friend or a foe?

“Wait!” he called, watching as she paused mid-stride, “You didn’t answer my question!”

The woman’s head tilted, but she didn’t turn to address him… Still he could hear her voice over the wind and rain, the words she spoke sending a shiver down his spine.

 **“I have found your values hold true,”**  she murmured, the rain pelting her darkly clad form, a smudge of black ink on a grey canvas.  **“I place my trust that you will act with honor upon this island and with its people.”**

Then she turned her head to glare over her shoulder, that fiery eye burning into his own.

 **“Be warned, I will tolerate no breach of faith. You harm a single citizen…”** she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, **“And _I_ will dispatch you myself.”**

Marco’s eyes widened.

Then a tearing sound ripped through the air, the woman vanishing without a trace.


	2. Chapter 2

“That  _bitch!_ ” Haruta roared, slamming his fists onto the table, his body quaking in rage.

Marco sat nearby, his fingers steepled together as he mulled over the woman’s words, having just repeated them himself while reporting to the other division commanders. He’d flown back to the _Moby Dick_ after ensuring that Pops and the others made it to the cabin, and stayed to help direct the ship to the secluded cove that the abode was situated.

And suffice to say, his brothers weren’t taking the news well.

Vista stroked his mustache, a nervous tick that surfaced whenever he was agitated. “This is very distressing… That woman knew exactly who Father was, yet attacked without provocation! What is her game, I wonder, to allow us sanctuary?” 

“Doesn’t matter what her ‘game’ is!” Haruta spit, his fury overriding his usual chipper demeanor, “The fact that she attacked Pops  _at all_  is inexcusable!“ 

Marco snorted at that, a wry grin curling his lips despite the numerous angry gazes shot his way. “If I’m remembering correctly,  _you_  went for the old man’s jugular too when you were recruited.“ 

Haruta’s expression showed surprise before darkening again, his lips turning down into a displeased scowl. ” _That’s_ different…“ he grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting, his neck ruff making him look more like a displeased frog.

“I agree,” Izo huffed, tapping his chin with his paper fan, the parchment crinkling with how hard he was pressing it, “The circumstances are indeed separate. Those of us who fought Father did so while he was armed…” Here he snapped the fan closed with a resounding clap. “But that was  _not_ the case here–she was clearly trying to provoke us.”

“At what gain, though?” Jozu wondered, his larger bulk towering over his brothers, “If she knows of us, surely she understands what it means to cross our path.” Here he shook his head, his hand going to his chin in thought. “No, there is something more going on here…”

The commanders muttered amongst themselves, worry wrinkling their brows.

Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there’s little use in worrying over it now,” he said, leaning away from the table to rest against the back of his chair, “What’s done is done. We just need to lay low for now and not draw attention to ourselves… Once Denzin is recovered, we can leave this island in peace.”

“Tch, are you really okay with that?” Blenheim growled, braid waving back in forth as he tossed his head like an angry horse, “We can’t just take this insult lying down.”

Scowling, Marco shot his larger brother a glare, his voice taking on an authoritative tone, “Perhaps, but it’s not up to  _us_  on how to act. Pops is the one who has the final say, and if he’s content to let it slide then we will follow his example.”

Blenheim grimaced, but nodded his head–if a bit reluctantly–when Marco continued to give him that piercing glower. The rest of the men in turn were cowed by his authority and said nothing more.

An awkward silence descended after that, the men dispersing one after another before emptying the room altogether, and Marco gave yet another sigh. He hated taking command like that, but they couldn’t afford to anger this island’s guardian. They had no way of knowing what her capabilities were, or even what her power’s limit was… provided it had one. 

 _That claw,_  he thought, remembering the way the shadowy limbs had melded together into a single sinuous arm, dangerous and swift,  _Could it be a devil fruit? Paramecia, maybe…? There’s no way it’s the Kage Kage no Mi… Gekko Moriah is the master of that ability–So could it be a relative or a subcateg–_

A hand clapped on his shoulder, making him jerk out of his musings.

Following the white-clad wrist, Marco raised a brow at the grinning face of Thatch, his brother’s red pompadour as bright and buoyant as ever.

“You seem cheery…” Marco muttered blandly, somewhat dreading what was on the man’s mind. Thatch was notoriously the most mischievous of their crew, a tendency that luckily never extended to his cooking, nor his domain within the kitchens. Unfortunately, this left the rest of the ship to his tender mercies.

Thatch shrugged flippantly. “It sucks, but what can we do? Any other actions would just make the situation worse, so I think it’s a good call,” he said, waving a hand about like he was trying to clear the air, “Everyone else is just too hyped up on testosterone to think properly, so I’m sure once we reach land they’ll cool off.” 

Then he winked, making Marco’s stomach drop perceptively in dread at what was going to come next. Chances were it was going to be something embarrassing.

“Sooooo~” he simpered, slithering an arm around his shoulder that just made Marco twitch with suspicion, “Speaking of testosterone. This  _mystery_ woman… You think she might be ah–looking for a friend?” Thatch wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully and Marco groaned.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered, “I don’t think  _now_  is the appropriate time for this, Thatch…”

Scoffing, the man reeled back, a mock offended expression on his face as he placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, brother! Here I am, concerned over your bachelorness–”

“You mean ‘bachelorhood’?” Marco said flatly.

“–and you turn me away!” Thatch continued, willfully ignoring his interruption with a dramatic flourish, “You’re wound up tighter than a rope, my friend. You need to loosen up!”

Rolling his eyes, Marco stood, his chair making a cringeworthy screeching sound across the floorboards. “Perhaps, you’re right,” he admitted, not liking the way the man’s grin widened at that, so added hastily as he made his way to the hall, Thatch ambling along in his wake, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to try that with the island guardian. I’m not suicidal.”

“Aw, come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?” He heard Thatch whine.

“Rooting around with common sense apparently,” Marco muttered in reply, taking the steps two at a time and shrugging through the dividing door to step into the torrential downpour. His hair flattened instantly and he gave a backwards glance at his brother to see that he’d opted not to join him, his bearded face grimacing and patting at his pompadour worriedly.

 _Success,_  he thought, having known that fleeing into the rain would have easily deterred his brother. Sure it might have been a bit mean, but he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable and Marco was all too aware of how long the cook spent in the morning preparing his ridiculous do.

“I’m going on patrol,” he announced, his arms flashing into the brilliant blue wings of his devil fruit, the flames crawling up his limbs and across his shoulders, “Do try to keep the place from burning to the ground while I’m gone.”

And with that, he took flight, his body shifting into his signature phoenix form as he gained altitude.

“At least tell me if she’s hot!” Was the last cry he heard from Thatch before the wind and rain tore away everything else.

Marco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, opting instead to focus on where he was going. He knew his brother meant well, he just didn’t have the patience for his shenanigans right now.

His wings snapped against the wind, propelling him forward despite the storm, the flame-like pinions of his feathers creaking and crackling as the gale attempted to throw him off course. Marco kept a wary eye on the ground, tracking every contour of the land and memorizing the layout, taking note of the sprawling village that they hadn’t had a chance to step foot in yet.

He doubted the islanders would welcome their intrusion now… no matter what their guardian ordained.

Angling his wings, Marco caught an updraft, gliding toward the range of mountains that composed the island’s center, noting with interest that the land was primarily populated by gigantic bamboo trees.  _Probably the villager’s source of lumber,_  he thought, circling widely around one particularly large specimen, the circumference almost as large as the mangrove trees in Sabaody…

A dark shape darted out of his peripherals.

Marco had just enough time to tuck his wings and dive when large serrated jaws snapped at his tail. A frustrated snarl followed in his wake, and he chanced a look back to see an enormous…  _thing_. It hung from a branch above where he’d been flying, a large flat tail wrapped around the trunk and it’s back claws reversed like a squirrel’s to hang on.

It’s face was nothing like that of a cuddly rodent however…

It reminded him vaguely of a tiger in it’s coloration, but that’s where all similarities stopped. Large nostrils and a long sleek face was reminiscent of the predatory seals he’d once seen in North Blue, while its eyes were wide and unblinking, pupils slivered like a serpents.

It bellowed at him in rage, the call ending in a series of clicks.

Then it lunged.

He spun, narrowly avoiding the swipe of the thing’s long claws. It hardily seemed deterred by the height, easily catching itself on the nearest bamboo tree and clambering nimbly up the trunk, it’s powerful paws easily cracking the bark and making handholds for itself. 

It was fast and it wasn’t long before Marco had to dodge away yet again, cursing as it’s aim proved to be more true this time. A chunk torn from his shoulder.

Nothing his devil fruit couldn’t handle though, his avian flesh knitting back together with a burst of flame.

Marco gave a trill of amusement when the beast hissed in annoyance, it’s mouth working as it attempted to figure out why exactly it was empty. It glared at him, nostrils flaring, throat vibrating as another collection of clicks issued forth.

 _It’s smart,_  he noted, twirling when it pounced yet again, and shying away when it climbed up and roared on the opposing tree.

This continued for several long minutes, the beast dogging Marco’s heels as it tried again and again to successfully take a chunk out of him. If anything, he was impressed by its persistence and stamina, cleverly herding him away from any open areas in the canopy. Marco supposed he could have easily defeated the creature, but he was fascinated by its behavior.

Almost… like it was leading him somewhere.

Unfortunately, he got his answer when his body shifted from bird to man against his will.

“What–” he attempted as he stared at his hands, but all the air was shoved forcefully from his lungs by the beast’s weight. The creature taking full advantage of his distraction.

They both crashed to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs and sputtering flame, the foliage they landed in kicking up a storm of debris.

A sweet smell permeated the air.

Marco coughed, struggling to stand. He was confused…  _Why did I change back? What in the hell happened?_  he wondered, his knees shaking just as readily as when he was soaked in seawater.

He tried to summon his wings, willing the flames to envelope him in the comforting warmth that he’d grown so familiar with.

Not even a spark heeded his call.

Dizziness overwhelmed him and Marco clutched his head as the world spun. He felt off… Like he was going to be sick. He blinked hard as the ground suddenly became the sky, the gap in the trees showing a canvas of stars overhead.

 _When had it stopped raining?_  he wondered, willing his limbs to move. To stand. To do  _anything_. But he couldn’t even twitch, his body effectively as paralyzed as if he’d been cuffed with seastone. His mind felt fuzzy, vaguely reminding him of a time before he’d eaten his devil fruit and he’d still been able to get drunk.

There was just enough light to see in the gloom and Marco concluded that he and the beast must have landed in some sort of glade. The smell of wildflowers was overwhelming and his body relaxed further despite himself.

This had been it’s plan all along…

He couldn’t even tense up when a guttural snort sounded nearby, the heavy padding of paws crunching through the flowers indicating that his new ‘friend’ had recovered. Marco could just barely make out the details of the beast’s snout when it shoved its face into his own, standing over him like a hulking shadow.

It whiffled, flinging mucus onto his cheeks, giving a series of grunts as it inspected him.

Marco imagined that it sounded a little smug.

Then it pressed a paw onto his sternum and Marco wished he could scream, the beast’s weight making his ribs groan. He felt a couple of the lower ones snap under the pressure, and his vision whited out in response, his body still reacting to pain.

And if the lack of recovering flames was any indication… this was going to be a fatal encounter.

He was going to die. In silence. Eaten by some unknown creature in the middle of a nowhere.

 _What a pathetic way to go,_  he thought, his sight darkening as the lack of air finally started taking its toll. He couldn’t even muster a thought against the damp breath that hit his face, the beast’s jaws opening  _wide–_

And then everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

_“I’m sorry,” a voice echoed and he rose, his body lifting off the ground, independent of his will. The silky press of shadows enveloped his limp form, gently cradling him like a giant’s hand. “I didn’t mean for this…”_

_Soft fingers touched the curve of his jaw, the flesh cool against his own._

_“But fear not… I will make things right.”_

_And then he saw red._

* * *

Marco’s eyes snapped open, a gasp on his tongue.

He huffed, chest heaving with coughs, and blinked in confusion at the polished wooden ceiling that greeted him. His eyes darted about, scanning the paneling and paper screens of the surrounding walls. 

He was in a bedroom, that much was obvious… though it lacked that distinctive lived-in quality; too bare of decorations to personally belong to anyone. 

_A guest room?_

Dull pain flared along his lower ribs and Marco winced as he sat up, pushing aside the sheet so he could swing his feet to the floor.  _I have to get out of here… Get back to my brothers,_ he thought, grimacing when the hardwood felt cold against his flesh.

His head spun, however, forestalling any immediate action–so he took a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings, hands coming up to scrub at his face and get the sleep out of his eyes. He noticed that someone had made off with his shirt while he’d been incapacitated, the chill air making his skin rough with gooseflesh, the bandages wrapped around his numerous injuries doing nothing to stave off the bite.

Not that he minded terribly. In all likelihood the shirt probably had been demolished in his tussle with that creature.

Which begged the question: Why was he still alive now?

The last thing he remembered was his powers cutting out and the gaping maw of teeth more than ready to tear his face off. For all intents and purposes he  _should_  be dead.

Yet here he was, sitting on a soft bed in unknown territory with broken ribs, lacerations, and–assuming black spots in his vision  _wasn’t_  normal–probably concussed.

Despite this, Marco stood, rocking back on his heels when he lost balance and catching himself with a steadying hand on the mattress.  _Pops is probably worried about me,_ he thought, letting out a low grunt when his sides burned something fierce. It’d been quite some time since he’d been as injured as he was now, he forgot how…  _annoying_  it could be. Having grown complacent with his regeneration capabilities.

 _Will I ever get them back?_  he wondered, blinking away a wave of dizziness.

“Are you alright?”

Marco flinched, jerking around to stare with wild eyes at the source of the voice, his mind dipping into a panic and vision blurring, an aftereffect of his concussion. The silhouette of his intruder blended into a blob of color, making it impossible to see who it was. He was vulnerable right now, anybody could get the jump on him–Take advantage of his weakness. Like a bird with clipped wings he was flightless, but he could still–

Still…

His sight cleared, showing a woman standing in the doorway, her brows arching as she observed him in turn, a basket held under her arm.

She was… She was  _stunning_.

Long chestnut hair hung over a delicate shoulder, the shimmering strands woven with care into a braid, the tiny petals of wildflowers cheerily intermingling with the locks. The robes of her yukata were of a high quality, the dark blue cloth having been embroidered with golden designs of butterflies, vines, and blossoms. There was a regalness that exuded from every pore, and Marco surmised she wouldn’t have looked out of place in a royal court.

But the most notable thing of all was the matching eyepatch over her left eye and the jagged scar that bisected her cheek.

His voice caught in his throat and thus was ashamed to admit a tiny squeak came out.

“Please do not move, you will only aggravate your wounds,” she said, her gaze reprimanding as she slid the door open further, footsteps nearly silent on the hardwood.

Marco stared, torn between wanting to get out of here to let his brothers know he was okay and heeding this woma–no  _Goddess’s_  command. Because that’s what she had to be… A Goddess. She was too beautiful to be real.  _I’m dreaming, aren’t I?_ he thought, his butt planting itself back onto the mattress without his approval, O _r I’m dead…_

Though he supposed getting mauled to death by a mutant squirrel wasn’t looking so bad now.

She glided toward him, robes a whisper of movement, raising a delicate hand to place it against his shoulder.

Her skin was cool against his own.

Marco gulped, she was so close he could smell a faint perfume, a scent that reminded him vaguely of cinnamon and nutmeg. He provided no resistance when she made him lay back down, guiding him with a gentle grace that ensured he felt little pain. Her expression was still stern, though, which instantly made him wary that he’d done something wrong.

He got his answer when she met his eyes with her single one, the brown iris glittering from beneath her lashes.

“You are in no condition to get up and walk anywhere,” she informed him, her frown almost daring that he refute her claim, “At least four of your lower ribs have fractured, rendering you unable to breathe properly…”

“Well you certainly know how to take my breath away,” Marco quipped before his addled brain could catch up with his mouth and once it did, he facepalmed.  _You fucking idiot…_

The woman tilted her head, full lips pursing. “Are… you alright?”

“Yeah,” he lied, scrubbing a hand down his face, his cheeks pinching so hard he just knew they must be bright crimson.  _She saved your dumb ass, don’t disrespect her, moron!_  Marco chastised himself, lips warbling into a sheepish grin as he said, “Sorry, that was… rude of me. Thank you, for patching me up, Miss…” He trailed off, once again at a loss for what to say.

Because neither of them had introduced themselves… the ungodly levels of social faux pas going on here was making his head hurt.

Or maybe that was just the concussion…

So he stuck out his hand, his head bowed in shame. “M-marco…” he stuttered for a moment before clearing his throat, “My name is Marco.”

She inspected the limb, curiously, then grasped it with her own, the flesh of her palm smooth in comparison to his own weather-beaten callouses. “Kaiza,” she whispered, giving his hand a slight squeeze, “And think nothing of it, the fault lies with me.”

He blinked, blurting out thoughtlessly, “Bull, I think I’d remember someone as pretty as you kicking my ass.”

Kaiza rose a brow, her lips thinning.

Marco flushed in turn, his body growing hot as he realized exactly what he said. He really needed to get his shit together… “I–ah… Ignore me…  _Please_.”


	4. Chapter 4

His caretaker didn’t appear to be one for idle chatter.

It wasn’t  _total_  silence, she made an interested hum low in her throat for every one of his wounds she inspected… Her voice a near whisper as she questioned what pained him as her fingers prodded bare flesh. 

But she didn’t utter a word outside this realm, preferring to remain quiet as she redressed his bandages. Skilled hands winding and weaving with barely a pause before moving on.

It was… a bit awkward.

Marco was so used to his crew talking his ear off, that the hushed atmosphere was almost jarring. Noise was just a natural byproduct of living with a ship population of a fluctuating fifteen hundred heads, so he was, quite frankly, acclimated to constant sound.

And considering he was reclined half-naked on a bed with a beautiful woman attending him… 

Oh hell, he needed a distraction to get him out of his own head, it was too quiet!

But Kaiza appeared, for all intents, to be unbothered by the silence. Diligently working, despite the increasingly heavy air, unwilling to start an off-topic conversation.

So it was up to him…

His eyes flicked up to her face before glancing away. 

Unsure.

She really was beautiful… The intricate eyepatch and the scar beneath it only added to her mysterious allure. It made him wonder about the history behind it…

Not that he’d ask outright. Scars that deep held potential for backstory too personal to share. It’d be rude.

_There has to be something else,_ Marco mused, racking his brain.

He swallowed thickly as she applied a cooling salve to a bruise on his forearm, her delicate hand cradling his meaty arm as she worked. It vividly reminded him of his brothers’ goofy antics in the infirmary, the nurses laughing and “oohing” as the men put on a show of flexing to impress them.

It was… asinine. But hell it would at least start a conversation.

…Probably. He’d never actually done it, since his devil fruit prevented him from needing the nurses’ tender mercies to begin with.

Another glance at her serious expression and Marco internally groaned. This was probably a terrible idea, but he needed to break the ice somehow. Besides if he screwed it up she might at least get a good laugh out of it.

Carefully, he flexed. Bicep bulging. He held back a wince when something pulled in his wrist—

—And swift as a viper, she jabbed a finger into the nerve cluster in his shoulder. He yelped at the same time his arm went limp, numb. 

“Please, do not put undue stress on your muscles,” she droned, not even bothering to look up from her ministrations, as if she hadn’t just effortlessly paralyze his arm, “You have extensive tearing that requires proper rest and binding to prevent further damage. Pain medication has dulled your senses to the degree of your injuries, so I ask that you relax.”

Marco openly gaped, glancing at his limb like he’d never seen the damn thing before.

Then flushed.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, seriously considering planting his face into the nearest pillow and smothering himself out of sheer embarrassment. That obviously hadn’t gone well… And combined with his earlier bungle she probably thought he was a complete ass.

Kaiza made a throaty noise, acknowledging his apology, but didn’t make any other move to envoke further communication.

They sat in silence for a few moments… Contemplating. 

She began reapplying gauze to his arm.

He cleared his throat.

“So… err—“ he trailed off, almost losing his nerve when her eye flicked up to meet his, but forged on when the glance proved to be curious rather than reprimanding, “What are you… doing around here?”

Marco grimaced. That sounded… lame.

She blinked, tilting her head in a rather bird-like manner, her braid swaying. “Well,” she began, tone a bit lighter than before, “I do suppose I live here…“

A joke. She was joking with him. Marco’s blush deepened as her neutral expression turned to one of tolerating amusement, the corners of her lips turning up slightly as her eye curved. A short huff of what might have been a laugh followed and he was over the moon.

_Not_   _fair_ , he lamented, face practically aglow as he gawked like a greenhorn, _She was already gorgeous before, so how—_

Kaiza gave another hum, interrupting his thoughts, returning much of her attention to wrapping his arm, though her mien a little fonder. “I presume you meant to ask how I make a living, yes?” she questioned, tying off the gauze with an expert flick of her wrist.

He nodded, not really trusting himself to say anything remotely intelligent, he’d already made enough of a fool of himself.

She helped him arrange his still tingling arm into a sling, her voice one of patience as she explained, “My role here varies, though I suspect the best description would be one of… Caretaker. I provide herbal remedies, mostly.”

Marco quirked a brow. “Wouldn’t that make you more an Herbalist?”

An agreeing noise sounded in her throat, her attention now drawn to the wrappings around his head. She stood to address the issue. “Quite. If that were the usual case,” she said, untying the knot, “Though I’ve found to have adopted a weakness for foundlings…”

He blinked up between her arms, bemused. “A weakness for wha—“

But his answer came with the pounding of feet, followed by a wailing, “Miss Kaiza! Miss Kaiza!” The paper screen rattling open to clap loudly against the end of the rail, the shoji wobbling dangerously as a girl—with a full head of braids and appearing to be no older than fourteen—gasped in the doorway. Her face was livid, a snarl on her lips as she bellowed, “THAT JACKASS BURKE PUT A BAT IN MY LUNCHBO—“

The girl paused, mouth agape as she stared at the scene before her. Her eyes practically bugging out when she noticed his half-naked self lounging on the bed, her eyes dragging over every inch of his exposed torso, drinking in his appearance like a thirsty explorer seeing water in the desert for the first time.

Marco shifted uncomfortably at that, he… did  _not_  want to deal with a hormonal teen.

“…oh,” she said, fortunately gathering her wits and clicking her jaw shut, visibly deflating as her eyes darted about—Anywhere that wasn’t his bare chest. Her face was still flushed, though it was likely attributed to the current circumstances as opposed to her sprinting entry.

Then, a slow, but extremely sly expression of understanding slipped onto her face, eyes lighting up, and a wicked curl turning up her lips. “Ohhhh~” she said again, only this time it caused a ripple of unease to crawl down Marco’s spine. He’d seen a similar look appear on Thatch’s face when the man had just thought of a particularly choice prank.

_Okay, yeah that’s definitely worse_ , he thought, grimacing as the girl gave a remarkably perverse giggle.

“Oh, sorry sorry, Miss Kaiza~” she cooed, wiggling out the door in the most bizarre dance he’d ever seen, a simpering smile on her face that was too sugary to be trusted as she twisted around to exit, “I’ll leave you two  _alone_.”

“Nonsense, Lyn,” Kaiza denied flatly, crooking a finger to urge the teen to come closer, “This is a prime opportunity for your training. Stay and observe.”

Marco couldn’t help the chuckle when the newly introduced Lyn visibly slumped, nearly planting her face through the paper screen—only to groan as his ribs protested.  _Okay, so let’s not do that,_  he reflected, grimacing, his arm—the one not confined to a sling—coming around to cradle his stomach as he took steady breaths. The medication must have been wearing off because he was starting to notice blooming irritation turning to burning in several locations.

Kaiza’s eye darted to him at the first utterance of pain, her brow furrowing. “Lyn, please retrieve the anesthetic. Marco needs a new dose…”

“Yeah, yeah I got it,” she murmured, slouching her way over with a tin box in hand. “Try to help a girl out…” he heard her grumble under her breath, a pout on her lips.

The jab of the needle into his shoulder was probably a bit more vicious then necessary…

_Ow, brat…_ Marco thought, shooting the teen a reproachful look.

She smiled winningly.


	5. Chapter 5

Izo was about to burst a blood vessel at this point.

Officially, this had been the sixth time in two minutes he’d noticed Thatch poke his orange pompadour into the same corridor, a mystified expression on his long face. He would glance about, scratch the back of his head, and turn around, disappearing to god knows where before showing up again.

It was distracting. Izo was currently in the process of applying a new layer to his makeup and he needed the  _utmost concentration_  in his task. Face painting was a grueling process, and having that mischievous jackass lurking about only added to his stress. He’d found a wrinkle a few moments ago. _A wrinkle!_

He let out a sigh when, once again, he saw Thatch vanishing around the corner. A small part of him was curious as to what the man was up to, but his rational side preferred not sticking his nose in… just in case his brother had a prank planned.

Besides, he hadn’t even applied the rouge yet.

And Izo was going to do just that, touching the tip of the brush to his lips, when Thatch popped back in like a freaking groundhog to bark, “Hey Izo—“

“WHAT?!” he shrieked, whipping his head around angrily, the brush smearing a line across his cheek, “WHAT COULD YOU  _POSSIBLY_  WANT?!”

Thatch cringed, grimacing at his snarling expression. He was pissed—already he could feel some of the foundation cracking—he was going to have to start from scratch. “S-sorry,” his brother stuttered, before hesitantly pointing to his own face, “You got a little someth—“

“ _I KNOW!_  ANSWER MY QUESTION!” Izo snapped, banging his fist against the counter top. He knew damn well what his rouge looked like. A disaster.  _He_ was a disaster and he couldn’t possibly been seen like this! But first he needed this idiot to leave so he could resume putting his face on!

“Ah-uhm-so—“ Thatch fumbled, before he finally gathered his wits and blurted out, “Have… Have you seen Marco anywhere?”

Izo blinked, caught off guard.

Because now that he actually thought of it, he  _hadn’t_  seen the First Division Commander today. His mouth twisted into a frown, thinking. “No, I have not…” he murmured, rapping his nails against the arm of his chair, “In fact, the last time I saw him was at the meeting a couple days ago.”

His brother scowled as well and brought a hand up to scrub at his goatee, a worried furrow to his brow. “I—Same here. He said he was going out on patrol that night,” Thatch murmured, eyes darting about as he recalled the event, “It was still storming to all hell then, but I didn’t think anything of it.”

“A storm would hardly slow him down,” Izo remarked, crossing his arms, completely confident in Marco’s flying capabilities. He’d witnessed the man flying effortlessly in hurricane force winds, so a little squall would hardly slow him down. “Did you see the direction?”

A heavy sigh escaped Thatch then, his shoulders visibly slumping. “Not exactly. It was raining and I didn’t want to follow him on deck… If I had to take a guess I’d say further inland, since we were anchored in the bay.”

Izo hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with a finger. Marco wasn’t one to stay on land for long, being somewhat of a homebody… so for him to be gone for such an extended period of time was strange in itself. “Have you asked Pops?” he wondered.

Thatch made a face, his mouth almost turned down into a perfect arc. “That’s why I’m here. Pops wanted to update Marco on Denzin’s progress,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “But I can’t find him, and now I’m worried.”

“Haki?” he suggested, but when his brother shook his head Izo felt a quiver up his spine. Thatch wasn’t the best at Observation Haki, but there were several under his command that  _were_ … and if he was shaking his head now that meant  _no one_ could detect Marco’s signature. 

Which went without saying that it did not bode well…

Izo wetted his lips before hesitantly asking, “Do you think…  _she_  had anything to do with it?”

“The Guardian?” Thatch asked, mouth thinning into a line, and at Izo’s nod he ran a hand down his face, features stretching as he groaned, “I don’t know… The only thing we can go off of is what Marco and his division witnessed.” He stroked his beard, twisting the hair of his goatee—a tell-tale sign that the man was agitated. “But even from that, we can’t know for sure. We don’t have any info on who this woman even  _is_ , let alone believe that we can trust her.”

Biting at his nail, Izo narrowed his eyes in distaste. “And what’s worse, we’ve been effectively trapped, only allowed on this island due to her good graces,” he murmured, clenching his teeth hard enough to bite through the keratin of his beautifully manicured nail, “The locals would be suspicious of a mass sweep and it might even incite her wrath if we go about this wrong.”

Thatch was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed in thought, his hand firmly clamped over his mouth as he considered Izo’s words. “What if…” he started hesitantly, “What if we only form a small search party—just you and me—under the pretense that we’re taking in the sights? It might not cover as much ground, but…”

“That  _could_ work…” Izo mused aloud, drumming at his lips for a few moments before pinning Thatch with a serious look, “But we need to inform Pops of this— _Only_  Pops—he needs to be aware of the situation, however we don’t want to create a panic within the ranks. Keep this low.”

“Yes,” he agreed, whirling about with the intent to do just that.

“Thatch,” Izo called, and the man paused, hand resting on the door frame, an unreadable expression on his normally cheerful face, “We’ll find him.”

A blank nod was all he got in return, the man’s eyes distant… and he was gone.

Izo sighed, slouching gracelessly into his chair.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Thatch must be feeling right now. It was clear the man felt responsible for Marco’s disappearance, especially considering he was the last to see him… not to mention the fact they were in potentially hostile territory.

It didn’t look good.

Taking another glance at his less than stellar appearance, Izo resigned himself to the task of removing all his hard work, dipping a bottle of makeup remover into a cloth and dabbing at his face liberally. He and Thatch had work to do, looking beautiful could wait.

“You better be okay… Marco…”

\--

“You sure he’s a pirate?” a not-quite-whispering voice murmured.

Keeping absolutely still, Marco fought back a smile, listening intently to the careful creak of the floorboards as he feigned sleep. He picked up the sound of several feet tip-tapping in a poor attempt at stealth just beyond the door, the shoji rattling in its track slightly as he assumed someone peered inside.

“He doesn’t look like much…” the same voice stage whispered.

“Shh! You’ll wake him up…” another hissed, though they weren’t much better, “B‘sides he’s got a tattoo. Everybody knows pirates got tattoos.”

Someone else snorted… Just how many were out there? “Does that mean old man Nampton’s a pirate too?” they asked, tone dripping in sarcasm “Cuz he’s got a tattoo.”

“His don’t count,” the second argued, clearly annoyed as their voice rose out of a murmur, “Everybody knows he drew his himself.”

“He could’a been!” a younger voice chirped in excitement,  _loudly_ , “When he—When he was—When he was  _not_  old!”

“ _Shhhhhhh!_ ” several voices shushed angrily in unison, unknowingly making a racket that was much louder than the last kid’s statement. Marco stifled a giggle, immensely amused. It very much reminded him of his brothers’ play bickering during off hours, those bearing witness usually exchanging bets if the argument grew more heated.

The youngest sounding one squeaked out an apology after a breath of silence.

Marco could practically feel their eyes… Watching. Waiting.

He affected a wheezing snore.

“Wow, he’s really out of it,” one of them said softly.

“Duh, he got the crap kicked out of him by a Seal Leopard,” another replied, equally as hushed. Marco heard the shoji move a little further, the floor creaking as he assumed the child leaned in. “I betcha he’s got wicked scars.”

An assortment of hissed exclamations confirmed that the kid was taking it a step further.

“Burke, get back here!”

“Don’t go further in!”

“What if he wakes up!”

“Ohh—Miss Kaiza’s gonna be maaaaad…”

“Shut up dummies, I’ll be fine,” the one apparently named ‘Burke’ growled, clearly confident in whatever-the-hell this escapade was. Marco figured that the kid was probably just bored. “Now be quiet or you’ll  _really_ wake ‘im.”

The babble died down into muted whimpers and Marco strained his ears to listen for the child’s advance. The soft, vaguely sticky tapping of bare feet on polished hardwood was his first clue, a slow creep, likely tip-toeing on the balls of his feet.

This went on for several seconds, the quiet encouragements for Burke to be careful breaking through the near silence. Marco let the boy draw near, faintly able to hear his controlled breathing as he came closer, the blanket at his side dipping slightly as the boy rested his palm against the linen.

Feeling mischievous, Marco snapped open one eye and pinned the startled boy with a  _look_.

“ _Boo._ ”

The effect was immediate, Burke’s arms pinwheeling back as he  _shrieked_ in unbridled terror, the other children huddling in the hall answering his shout with wails of their own. They stumbled over themselves and each other as they stampeded away, their cries echoing back as they called for Kaiza to ‘save’ them.

Meanwhile, Marco was dying.

His shoulders shook as he clamped a hand over his diaphragm, trying and failing to contain the spasms as he chortled uncontrollably, damn near crying with how hard he was laughing.  _The look on the kid’s face!_  This was it, this was how he was going to die… he could already feel a faint twinge of pain as his ribs vehemently objected to his fit. A loud barking laugh finally left him, wheezing and coughing and choking at the empty room, and Marco resigned himself to his fate.

He was so freaking bored.


End file.
